


A Different Kind of Magic

by OllieMaye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Squibs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 14:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20136964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye
Summary: Being a Squib isn’t easy, but Rubeus shows Argus that you don’t have to have magical powers to work your magic.





	A Different Kind of Magic

The children had been mucking things up all morning: parchment pieces strewn in the corridors, ink splashes on tapestries, bits of food lying about…who raised these heathens? 

That’s to say nothing of the children’s overt cackles pointed toward Argus. He knows they all snigger at him—they make no attempt to hide their malice, their contempt and their confusion. Yes, Argus’s Squib status leaves some of the students confused. How can a person born into a Wizarding family possess zero magical abilities? 

It’s a question Argus has asked himself, the heavens and the gods a million times in his life. Dumbledore would have said, “People fear that which they don’t understand,” which may have a ring of truth to it, but Argus often wonders if there is something about him that deserves to be reviled. 

He bends over to gather a particularly messy pile of parchments, his bones creaking with his movements. One of the saddest things about being a Squib is not aging the same way the rest of the magical world does. He ages at the same rate as a Muggle, which means his loved ones—those who will still talk to him, anyway—will outlive him. It’s just another thing that makes Argus feel like the world he was meant to be a part of is rejecting him. 

After picking up the detritus of another day at Hogwarts, Argus retires to his bedchamber, beleaguered and weary. His joints are getting worse in his old age; he’s not quite seventy yet, which would still be middle-aged for a wizard, but for a Squib, it’s definitely getting up there, and his body can feel it. He longs for a warm bath and the relief it would bring to his aching body and mind. 

Being a Squib is actually incredibly difficult. Having to do everything the Muggle way, the _harder_ way, and then watching everyone around you getting to do the same tasks the magical way—well, it’s unfair. And to see those same people—the people who are supposed to be closest to you, the people who are supposed to _love you_—to see them doing so, easy as you like, and then turn around and mock you for being physically unable to perform magic is downright humiliating. 

The one person in Argus’s world who even halfway understands him is the person who was forced into the same magical prison. 

He’s just about to pull on his bathrobe when he hears the door to his chamber open behind him. 

“‘Ello,” says a gruff but warm voice, and it wraps around Argus like a warm blanket. He turns around to see the smiling eyes of Rubeus looking down at him. 

Where Argus’s hair is thinning and stringy, Rubeus’s hair seems to have a life of its own. A twig is sticking out the side, which just makes his bearded countenance all the more endearing. Argus smiles back at the lovable half-giant, trying to put his mind at ease.

“Hello, Rubeus,” he says, setting his robe on the bed. Rubeus inches further into his chamber and the door closes behind him with a click. Argus walks toward him, hand outstretched, and plucks the twig from his hair. 

“I was worried about yeh when yeh didn’ come ter supper,” Rubeus says, his smile faltering a little. 

Argus’s own lips turn down at the corners. He’d skipped supper to wash some unsavoury graffiti from the girls’ lavatory on the second floor; it’s best to do that while the whole school is in the Great Hall so he doesn’t intrude on anyone’s privacy. Well, that, and it gives him a chance to commiserate with Moaning Myrtle. Misery loves company, as they say. 

“Was just cleaning up after some brutes besmirched a lavatory,” he says. Argus turns back to the bed, picks up his robe and fiddles with it, trying to avoid Rubeus’s gaze. 

He hears Rubeus’s feet shuffling behind him and suddenly, he is embraced from behind. Rubeus’s massive arms envelop him, the dark hairs tickling his bare chest. There was a time when an embrace such as this would have made him flinch, but he’s been with Rubeus long enough now that he melts back into the man’s body almost immediately. The feeling of the skin-on-skin contact acts as a balm for Argus, and he starts to feel the muscles in his neck relax. Rubeus strokes Argus’s chest and nuzzles into the back of his neck. “Need teh talk ‘bout it?” And just like that, there is nothing Argus wants more in the world than to open up to Rubeus—this man, this _wizard_ who doesn’t judge or ostracise him. 

It seems there are some kinds of magic you don’t need to have a wand to perform.


End file.
